Our Painful Companion
by Amberlied
Summary: She had been wandering the earth for almost a hundred years without the memories of her origin and Jack knows more than he lets on. When a strange evil rises to threaten the core of humanity,the wandering immortal must join forces with unlikely allies before it is too late. But as her past becomes clearer, the fate of the universe darkens.
1. Chapter 1

This was the place, graying with windows nuanced by stones thrown over almost a hundred years. She had seen the house in many different lights, but it was still a monochrome shade lifted right out of an antiquated moving picture. When she got closer, she could smell the wood, rotted long ago and was soft as pine. It smelled sweet to her, age and ash mingling together. She didn't have to get too close to hear the many mites and insects crawling through every individual plank. The stairs creaked as she walked onto the porch. A kin of rodents had made the underbelly their home and she could hear them scuttling beneath, frightened by the sound of footsteps. The door was always open, supported only by a rusty hinge. The door used to be red. She knew that. "And the walls white, and the roof was… black, I think. Like coal almost." She thought as she entered the dilapidated dwelling. She always imagined the house the same way. It didn't feel right any other way. Any semblance of furniture and décor had been eradicated leaving only stained walls and creaking floor -boards. Even though the mark of life had been far removed, it felt more like a home than anywhere else, to her at least.

She sighed as she reached into her makeshift satchel, pulling out a painted glass tube. A sanquine caricature of a little girl with gold hair stared back at her. She never got tired of studying the gilded vile, it was mesmerizing to say the least, even if it did make her feel like a thief admiring her bounty. After stealing from the feathered guardian, she had become an all-out felon. The world became a small place when you were immortal, but she had managed to keep her distance from the guardians for this long. If she would just come forth and return it, she could restore terms with them, maybe have a few allies, but…"No. Why does she need another? I just want this one." She loved the memories held within, they were like a drug for her. So much happiness was inside, but also something else, something so familiar it was uncomfortable. She couldn't help but cherish those moments as well.

She was a beautiful little girl. Her hair was curled gold and her eyes were a haunting green. Haunting perhaps only for the bearer of her memories now, as it sent a chill up her back. After almost a century of indifference to climate and touch, a tube of teeth made her shiver. Was guilt really all to blame? The young woman had no time to ponder this when a sudden crash arose from upstairs.  
She immediatley put the flask back in her satchel and moved to the base of the stairs. An incoherent obscenity was just audible, and fear mingled with anger took hold. She had no reason to be angry, no reason to feel nonexistent blood boil inside . Whoever it was, both of them were trespassing and both had no right to be there. But there was something about their presence that infuriated her. She was being unfair and rash besides, but that didn't stop her from approaching the wane yellow light at the top of the stairs. She heard a gruff voice mumbling obscenities and the rolling of a bottle.

A flickering light creaked from behind a chipping door, bathing the parallel wall in wane yellow. As she crept closer to the door, a sickening odor greeted her. Turning away briefly, she eyed a discarded bottle and grasped the neck in her hands. "What would I do with this?" she thought angrily. If she really wanted scare off the intruder, she had much more efficient ways of doing so.  
"Who's in here?!"

The man within jumped with a start, falling out of his seat to the dusty floor. He was an older man, streaks of varying gray highlighting chestnut hair and budding beard. His many layers of clothes were all equally shabby, and a box of cigarettes protruded from one of his pockets. She almost felt guilty for startling him like this.

"Christ, lady. What the hell…" he mumbled as he began to rise. He looked at her now, studying her petite frame and peculiar weapon.  
"What are you doing out here?"  
"What are you doing out here?" she repeated. She still held the bottle out as if she wielded a sword rather than a container.  
"It was cold out and..." he started, but she was the one to finish it.  
"You…didn't have anywhere else to go. Right?" He gave a coarse laugh.  
"Yeah, something like that. You too, I suppose? You don't mind if I get up do you?"  
Not expecting his humble request, she nodded wordlessly.  
"Thanks." He staggered as he got to his feet, keeping his eyes on the floor.  
"Umm… what are you doing?"  
"Looking for my lighter. I dropped it when, well, you kind of just barged in."  
"I didn't barge in. I…" What was she saying? Of course she barged in.  
"Alright, when you came in here with the intention to chase me out, or at least that's what I assume you wanted to do." He paused, continuing to look for his lost lighter. "Damn, where the hell did it…" As he searched the room, she noticed the small desk littered with papers and the overturned stool, but it was the fresh hole in the wall that caught her eye. "What happened up here?" she asked. The man looked toward the mess. "Oh, that? I was getting frustrated and... well, the wall got the blunt end of it." he said carelessly, returning to his search. She kept looking at him, assuming his frustration was the clamor that had brought her here. "Well, no reason to take it out on lumber." she mumbled, kneeling down beneath the desk. "What are you doing?" he asked, turning to her.  
"This is what you wanted, right?" she inquired, rising from the ground.  
In her pale hand was a beaten lighter, dull red and rusted at the tip.  
"Thank ,sit down if you like." he motioned toward the little stool and walked toward the clouded window. "Did you want a light?"  
"No, I quit awhile ago."  
"Oh. You don't mind if I..."  
"Oh, go ahead."

He chuckled weakly, turning his head as he exhaled vaporous smoke. "I will admit I like the smell though. It's sweet. I think so anyway."He looked at her now with a weak smile. "Aren't you cold? All you're wearing is that dress, and that looks like its seen better days, though I'm not one to critique fashion." He took a long drag while she looked down at herself. Her dress looked like nothing from this era and it was torn and faded at the hem. Why had she always worn this, for as long as she could remember, not that she remembered all that far back. She had always been wandering around in torn clothes, carrying a satchel. But something far away was coming back now. That little girl whose memories brought her so much joy…why did she feel a hand tugging at the hem of her dress?  
"Hey are you okay?" She looked up startled, obviously forgetting his presence.  
"Y-yeah, I just thought that I… actually it's nothing really. I don't really get cold you see." She stroked her arm quickly and held it out. "No goose bumps and no chills. I told you I don't get cold." He let out another breath, releasing more smoke. "Guess you don't." he said bemused. She brought her arm back to her chest and looked at him with somber wonder.  
"Why didn't you ask me my name? Usually that's the first thing people ask."

"That would mean I would have to tell you who I am to know who you are."  
"Huh? But I told you a lot about me and you haven't.."  
He laughed coarsely. "Yes, you've given me a plethora of knowledge about yourself."  
"Well, you know more about me than I know about you."  
"I suppose you're right." he sighed. "I know that you used to smoke but quit awhile ago, and you had nowhere else to stay tonight."  
"Well, all I know is that you smoke and punch holes in walls." she said breathlessly.  
"Sure. And isn't that all you need to know?" He said, putting out his cigarette.  
"Do you write or something?"  
"I used to."  
"Then what's all that?" she asked, looking toward the desk.  
"Work." he said gruffly.

Newspaper clippings, handwritten notes on scrap paper, and sheets thick with text made for a very ambiguous line of work, but the gruffness in his voice made her nervous to inquire further. "Well, what kind of work?"  
"Personal kind, freelance." he said, remaining gruff. He made his way toward the desk, collecting the scattered papers. He remained silent, his eyes narrowing and mouth forming a tight line. She looked down, trying to think what to say next.  
" 't tell me anything then". He looked up at her now. She had risen from the stool and was walking toward the window. He stopped fumbling with the leaflets. It was mad for him to assume she had known anything. Being coarse with her now was probably the last thing he should be doing. They were both in the last place they wanted to be, or so he assumed, and he owed her some courtesy, or at least he assumed.  
"The wind is letting up now. Still snowing though. I wonder..." she trailed off.  
"What is it?" he asked, trying to determine whether or not she was still upset.  
"Nothing, I was just thinking of someone I know."

He took a step closer to her. "My name's Bruce, if you were wondering." She turned to him.  
"I'd give you a last name, but I think it's better for both of us if I didn't." he continued. She smiled, extending her hand out. "Bruce-who-smokes-and-punches-holes-in-walls, nice to meet you." He smiled a little stronger this time, and took her hand in his, shaking it gently.  
"Tell me then, what do you go by?"

She took her hand from his warm grasp.  
"My name is…"  
Before she could finish, the visions began anew. It happened every time she came to the house. The pain in her legs and arms seared her skin mercilessly. The room, the man, and her own body were gone. It was distant cry of a child and the searing pain that remained. But now she heard a scream, a gruff scream, near by…  
He was on the floor, cigarette nowhere to be seen. She couldn't make out whether fear or wonderment filled his eyes now, but either way he had no intention of approaching her. She realized now what she had done. Shrouded in darkness, reaching parallel corners of the room were the exact things she had tried to conceal, try to control but always failed. Even in the night, she could make out their mangled, beaten outline, so many feathers bent out of place and many patches devoid of any. They had only become uglier with age.  
"Wha-What the hell are you?"  
She backed herself closer to the window looking away from the man.  
"Mira." She whispered.  
"What did you say?"  
Her battered wings rose up, creating strange shadows on the far wall.  
"That's my name, not that you'll remember now. Goodbye, Bruce." she said pensively, backing away from the man.  
The feathered attachments flapped in unison, pushing her out the window, leaving the man with broken glass and graying feathers.  
He heard a faint swish of air before he was left in silence sans the gentle wind.


	2. Chapter 2

It was well past midnight and the town of Burgess had long quieted. The Sandman had long since worked his magic over the many households, sparking dreams in the mind of every child. No one had yet tread the freshly fallen snow and the only source of light seemed to come from the narrow street lights lined along the shops and homes. Clouds covered the stars and grayed the sky, a rather morbid sight to the lone winter sprite now crossing the iced roofs with a confident step. He enjoyed the town when it was like this. True, it was the children that kept him coming back, especially the Bennetts. but silence had turned into a rare thing over the last few centuries.

"Enjoying a quiet night. Now I really feel three centuries old." Jack thought, carelessly forming icicles as he strolled. He had promised Bunny to clear the frost by Easter, and the light snow he had spread would be gone by of the guardians and an adolescent besides, thinking about his age was a peculiar thing. But many peculiar things entered his mind when he was alone. It had been a year since the start of his guardianship, and he would be lying if he said the station had become routine. It was a role that had yet to completely fit him and all he could do was offer clouds shifted slightly, allowing for a small patch of yellow stars to slightly illuminate the peripheral darkness. That was when he noticed the strange foot prints leading outside of town, strange if only for their lack of frequency. They dotted the ground instead of forming a cohesive path. Jack had seen the pattern before, and hesitated following it."Oh, no." he sighed. Gray feathers and broken glass made a congruous path, and now he had no choice but to follow. He sped along the trial, and as he left town, a small figure perched at the thawing lake came into had been two years since they had crossed paths. As he approached he could tell she had become more skeletal since their last meeting, and paler as well. Her feet were dipped into the frozen water and she fiddled with something in her hands. She turned quickly, pleased to see the young sprite.

"Jack! It's been too long. How are you?" She said all this with a ghost of a laugh on her breath and rose quickly, putting whatever she had been studying back in her satchel. "What are you doing in Pennsylvania, it's almost March?"She wanted to throw her arms around him, pull him close, breath in his chilled, sweet aroma, but she knew that would mean he would have to feel her arms around him and smell her disgusting scent of dead wood and decay. She carried the smell of the house with her everywhere, and it suit her about as well as summer time suited the winter sprite she longed to hold now.

"Not quite spring yet, Mira." He said as he began to walk around her. "Though I did make a deal with the Kangaroo to clear out before Easter."She turned quickly, not wanting him to see the damage.

"I haven't seen you in awhile. What have you been up to?" he asked in a strange tone. It reminded Mira of a father who knew his offspring has done something wrong, but was unsure just what. She hated it when he took on the fraternal role, it made her stomach turn inside out.

"I went to Sweden for awhile. Summer. Stayed there until spring. And then I thought I would stop by Rochester, New York Rochester." she said, trying to keep talking to prevent any interjection from her floating companion. Before she could ramble about weather and planned excursions, a familiar crunch stopped her from continuing. She couldn't feel the pain of stepping on broken glass, but that sound was about to her undo her. She raised her foot and sure enough, a rather long shard of glass was embedded in her heel.

She sighed loudly. "Alright, I can explain that." She said, pulling it out and fiddling with it in her hand. Before she could fabricate anything coherent, Jack was already behind her with his hands placed lightly on her shoulders, sending a chill through her that had nothing to do with temperature. Pieces of dirty glass decorated her back, and a film of ice had begun to form on the uneven she could do now was wait to hear the questions about to come."Here, hold this for a second." Jack handed his staff to her, and she obliged silently. She felt his hands work the glass out, like picking fruit off a tree.

"Relax your shoulders a bit."

"Nothing happened, really."

"Didn't ask you if anything did."

"You want to know, though. Right?"

" Well, I don't pick glass out of your back everyday."

It was silent as he picked the last few glass pieces out. She turned around and saw his hands filled with clear shapes of frosted shards."Give me those." She said softly, emptying his palms. "You'll hurt yourself."It was Mira's turn to be paternal. He may have been immortal, but he could still feel pain. The staff was still cradled between her arm and side, so she could only assume how ridiculous she looked.

"What are you going to do with all that?" he asked.

"I don't know." She said, clumsily slipping the shards into her satchel. She collected a few that fell in the snow, but dropped Jack's staff in the knelt to pick it up, coming down to her level. It was rare she got to see him this close. He hadn't changed in an entire century, and she cursed herself for staring at him. She rose up quickly, holding her satchel tightly."Well, nice to see you again, Jack. But…well, I should probably get going. " she said, not wanting to leave at all.

"Where are you going?" the sprite asked.

"Rhode Island, I think. Haven't been there in decades." She said. "I want to see if Marilyn's still around. I told you about her, right? Yeah, see if she's still in that big house by the ocean." Marjorie was ninety-two years old when Mira saw her last. She never left the big house by the sea. No one believed her that a pale woman with rotten wings in a torn green dress lived in her attic. The doctors put her on a myriad of medication to remove her "hallucinations". She told Mira stories of when she lived in New Jersey, how she met her husband, how many kids they had (three, if Mira remembered correctly), how her husband died in the trenches, how her children stopped talking to her, and how she outlived all her friends. She knew her friend was gone and had been gone for awhile.

"How are they holding up?"She knew he was talking about her grisly attachments. They had only become more grotesque, and she couldn't bear to let him see.

"Fine." She lied.

He approached her again, not believing her in the slightest. She turned ."Jack, I won't be gone long, just a day or so. Will you be here?" she asked. She heard her own desperation and noticed both her hands were clamped over his right. His surprise faded into an emotion she couldn't quite decipher. She wanted to let go of his hands, but she was afraid she would fall over if she let go."Yeah, I will. Promise." Almost all her weight was on his hand now, but he still had no difficulty keeping her up.A smile spread across her face. "Really, you mean that?" she asked, black and purple fringing her vision, making it look as if Jack was in a peculiar picture frame."Mira…"She sighed, feeling her chest deflate. "Good. I need to tell you about Bruce. He was a character, I'll tell you that. A writer, too. He does punch holes in walls, though. " She didn't know how much escaped her lips before her vision went black and the ground slipped from under her feet.


	3. Chapter 3

The faded Lumina had been sentinel for an hour now, its owner pondering what to make of the last twenty-four hours. There was no way she could have been real. No damn way. He should have taken a hint when she barged in wearing rags on a night as cold as that. There was no one in the house when he arrived, he was sure, and that begged the question how she even got there. And the way she left…

When Bruce was young, his grandfather told him a story about a fallen angel put on display in a chicken coop for all to see.* He was passed believing in angels, and whatever he saw_, if_ he saw anything, was no angel. But whatever she had been, it was far removed from anything resembling reality.

"She was wrong about one thing." He thought taking a long drag from his cigarette and leaning back in his seat. " I remember your goddamn name still, Mira. Despite everything, I remember." He closed his eyes, mentally worn and physically drained from lack of sleep. He had pulled over to a parking lot outside a rather shabby tourist trap, wanting to rest a minute and ended up smoking an hour away. His car faced the main road dotted with pine trees on both sides. He heard the faint sound of passing cars going sixty an hour and it reminded him of rushing water of all things. It did calm him down strangely enough, and that was what he needed at present. He almost made it to sleep when he heard the strangest of sounds; the laughter of a child.

He looked at the window he dangled his cigarette out of. It was four in the morning, no child would be wandering an empty parking lot now. He faced his dashboard and what he saw next would only make him question his sanity more.

It took a moment for him to see the boy, only catching his faint outline in the passing headlights. Even from the edge of the lot, he could make out his curled hair and his laughter rang clear. Bruce knew the boy all too well. This wasn't the first time they had crossed paths.

He cupped his face in his hands, wanting to remove the apparition, wanting to wake up. "Damn it." He whispered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He looked up and the boy was gone. Bruce sighed, relieved the nightmare had ended there. At least that was what he thought until the headlights illuminated what he had dreaded the most.

The boy was closer to the main road now, his back facing Bruce. He wanted to stop him, bound out of his car and pull him back, but he was the audience to a grotesque performance he had known the ending to for five years. It may be reached in a different manner every time he saw it, but that didn't make the conclusion less painful and it didn't stop him from screaming.

It was morning now. The sun was creeping over the horizon and made the sky a deep purple. He had gotten his sleep, but felt more drained than before. He looked toward the main road for a moment before turning the key. As the car creaked to life, he turned to close his window to prevent anymore cold from entering the car.

He had question a lot of things in the last few hours and he supposed this was just another. He could have sworn that through the trees dotting the roadside, there was someone standing alone, watching him…

He drove toward the main road, ignoring the feeling of eyes on his back.

*A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings by Gabriel García Márquez


End file.
